


heroes aren't born (they're built)

by afterism



Category: Horrible Histories, Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: Clockpunk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 04:00:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterism/pseuds/afterism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for the anon meme prompt: Iron Man AU. Charles as Tony. Sotherby as Pepper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	heroes aren't born (they're built)

"Really, Sothers, this is not the worst thing you've caught me doing."

"Are those _scorch marks_?"

"Well, I couldn't let the blasted fire party on without me, could I? And the Royal Armourer, well, he hasn't had much to do and he rustled up this marvellous suit for me a little while ago - it's clockwork, look, it does the most splendid things, I must show you sometime - although the damn thing must have got a bit dented when that beam collapsed and, well, now I appear to be a little bit stuck."

"That- that metal man was _you_? Your Majesty, you could have been killed!"

"Yes, yes, but I _wasn't_ , and more importantly a lot of my lovely subjects _weren't_ ," Charles dismissed it with a lazy wave, the staccato click of gears in the gold-plated suit turning the movement into something jerky and forceful. "Are you going to help me out of this wretched thing or not? It's rather starting to chafe."

"Right," Sotherby said, taking a step forward, and then another one, until he could reach a hand out to touch the metal plating covering Charles's shoulder. It was slightly warm under his palm. "You _idiot_ ," he said, suddenly, before he caught Charles's eye and inhaled sharply, dropping his hand. "Apologies, sire, I wasn't-"

Charles's gaze was soft, considering him, as he touched a gloved hand to Sotherby's arm. "I'm quite alright, Sothers," he said, quietly. "Now find something to prise this thing open, would you? I fear we have quite a lot of work to do."

Sotherby stared at him in open shock for a brief moment, before shaking himself and hurrying to the fireplace to grab a long poker. "Ah, excellent idea," Charles said, watching him. "It's the catch under the left shoulder plate, seems to be a bit jammed." Sotherby grimaced as he pushed the tip of the poker between the back plate and the dented sheet curving over it, wedging it apart enough to force the poker down and break open the catch. Charles grunted at the jolt, then hummed happily as Sotherby dropped the poker and tucked his fingers under the shoulder plate to pull off the entire metal arm, revealing thick leather padding over his skin and intricate clockwork woven through the armour.

"It is a rather ingenious system," Charles marvelled, before falling silent as Sotherby set his mouth in a hard line and diligently worked through the rest of the hidden clasps and fittings, pulling off the suit piece by piece as his hands quickly blackened with soot. "Although it may need a bit of redesign," he admitted a short while later, when Sotherby finally lifted the chest piece off and over his head.

"A redes-- you can't possibly be thinking of doing this _again_?" Sotherby said, his voice hitching. "Sire, I cannot allow you to!"

"Nonsense, Sotherby," Charles said, rolling his aching shoulders. Sotherby immediately started unlacing the thick padding that covered his limbs and torso, the leather worn and pinched - he brushed his thumb over a deep scratch too close to his neck and swallowed, a bubble of nausea settling heavy in his chest.

"Please, sire," he started, low and distraught, and then Charles had pulled off his glove and was curling a bare hand over the curve of his neck, forcing him to meet his gaze. There was a smudge of charcoal over his cheekbone, a sheen of sweat glistening over his pale skin, his eyes wide and bright and focused - he looked _alive_ , sober and glittering with excitement.

"Really, Sothers," Charles said, softly, the pad of his thumb tracing the delicate skin over his pulse point. "You can't expect me to party on while my city is burning down, can you?"


End file.
